
0^ TS 3 5 9 

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BALLADS OF CHILDHOOD 



By the Same Author : 

(Verse) 

The Road Beyond the Town 

and other llttle verses 

(Prose) 

Melchior of Boston 

Stuore 

The Wedding Bells of 
Glendalough 



Ballads of Childhood 



BY 



MICHAEL EARLS, S.J. 



New York Cincinnati Chicago: 
BENZIGER BROTHERS 

Publishers of Benziger's Magazine 
1914 






$3 t 



Copyright, 1914, by Benziger Brothers 



MAY 21 1914 



S&e 

©CI. A 3 744 4 9 



To 

AND 

Jour ®%r ^rienus 

He Knows 



CONTENTS 



To Bayard 9 

A Garden of Wheat and Vine 11 

Saint Holly 17 

Sailor Lad 19 

Bobby Brim 22 

Great Travellers 24 

To James 26 

The Child's Play of Men 28 

A Fellow I Know 29 

The Autumn Painter 30 

At London Bridge 33 

A Little Farmer 35 

To Dorothy 37 

Baron von Dougall 38 

My Hunting Grounds 41 

In the Photographer's Studio 43 

May-Day 44 

Bonnie Prince 0' Spring 46 

7 



8 Contents 

Friends Again 48 

My Gallery 50 

An Autumn Rose-Tree 53 

Batchee le Blanc 55 

After Vacation 57 

A Little Railroad Man 58 

In a Sea-Shell 61 

A Mother's Care 63 

The Easter of the Flowers 65 

Mother and I in the May 67 

To Catherine 69 

The Song of Workaday Mill 71 

The Last Gift 73 

To Helen and Gerard 74 

A Little Christmas Song 77 

The Lights of Worcester Town 78 

Envoy: My Walks 81 



TO BAYARD 

'""THOUGH I have read of goodly men 

And deeds that claim renown, 
Though I shall read good deeds again 

Of future field and town, — 
Come all the men of gallant days, 

From past or times to be, 
I would not equal them with praise 

My Bayard has of me. 

0, well I know of Arthur's clan 
And hosts of Cid and Finn, 

And worthy knights where ramparts ran 
To let brave honor in: 

Yet far-off legend and its song 
In robes of courtly art, — 

I read them best where honors throng 

In Bayard's loyal heart. 
9 



10 To Bayard 

Not only by achievements done 

On fields of bright applause 
The forts of loving hearts are won 

That serve good honor's laws: 
But little words and little deeds, 

With loyalty for king, 
Go flowering up from little seeds, 

And keep all years in spring. 

I love the deeds of goodly men 

With Arthur, Cid, and Finn, 
Who drove off harm from fort or fen 

To let brave honor in: 
Yet all the knights of gallant ways 

Of past or times to be, 
I would not equal with the praise 

My Bayard has of me. 



A GARDEN OF WHEAT AND VINE 

YV 7HEN I came back to Boston Town by 
good roads and by tumbledown, 

(From ten long years of travel and the won- 
derlands I know), 

I glanced across the olden scenes, the market 
crowds and public greens, 

And thought to find two children and our 
love of long ago. 

0, I could know them far or near, their 
voices out of thousands hear, 

The two that said, " We wait for you what- 
ever year you come: " 

Yea, if a pageant passed my way whenever 
kings made holiday, 

My heart would listen elsewhere, and their 

merriment was dumb. 
11 



12 A Garden of Wheat and Vine 

So on through Boston Town I went, from 
Ponkapog to Paddockbent, 

I asked a hundred folk or more who smiled 
and sped along: 

What wonder if they did not care, whose 
quest was money everywhere, 

And mine two little children and a friend- 
ship meet for song. 

The afternoon came on apace, I met the 

Mayor in his place, 
With Sheriff Sirs and Counsellors that by 

him sat in state; 
His honor stood and greeted me and all gave 

welcome courteously, 
Said, " Found you Boston looking fair across 

from gate to gate? " 

" From Blue Hill Road to Winthrop Ware, 
the Town is — well — is debonair," 

I answered with what heart I could and 
slowly turned to go: 



A Garden of Wheat and Vine 13 



' Yet fairer would it seem to me, if now two 

children I could see — " 
'Two children?" quickly cried surprise: 
alas! they did not know. 

Away I went before the night: I saw the 

priest's house and a light, 
I told him why I rang the bell and got his 

answer kind: 
" They live — the two of whom you say, just 

westward — there, a sunlit way, 
A wheatfield and a vineyard by the cottage 

will you find/' 

Indeed it was a pleasant mile, I stayed a 

moment by a stile, 
A wheatfield called me, " Here's the house;" 

a vineyard spoke the same. 
I hardly sang a line or two, — old playful 

songs the children knew, 
When wide the door flew open and two 

voices called my name. 



14 A Garden of Wheat and Vine 

The hedgeblooms and the stars were bright 
for token of a great delight, 

As " Welcome home and welcome home," 
came ringing down the lane; 

It sounded like a yesterday, ten years for- 
gotten dropped away, 

To find two little hearts unchanged, the past 
all young again. 

With legends out of every clime and tales 

of Once-upon-a-time, 
We wove the sixty-threaded hour, till I stood 

up and said: 
" I saw a field of wheat without, and good 

grapevines for hedge about; 
Who tends that quarter acre, and for whom 

the wine and bread? " 

"The vines I planted," answered she; "And 
I attend the wheat," quoth he; 

" And ready for your Holy Mass have we 
the bread and wine." 



A Garden of Wheat and Vine 15 

Then graciously they drew a door, and showed 

with love the little store, 
And whispered, "In to-morrow's Mass to be 

the Bread Divine." 

And at the early morning Mass (God bless 

the word) did come to pass 
The Miracle! the Miracle upon the altar 

stone: 
The goodly village folk were there with hearts 

of faith and love aware 
Of Christ in forms of bread and wine, the 

Bread of Life alone. 

And took they Blessed Food that day and 

joyous walked their homeward way, 
And three the last that happy went, two 

children were and I, — 
Two children from the wheat and vine whose 

hands prepared the bread and wine, 
And I, who may the words proclaim that is 

a rite divine. 



16 A Garden of Wheat and Vine 

When out of Boston Town I went, past Chel- 
sea Gate and Tappan Tent, 

My heart would keep a-whispering along 
the happy air: 

" Whatever years await ye two, and all your 
deeds a long life through, 

In gardens full of God's good love, be mir- 
acles of prayer." 



SAINT HOLLY 

(Not yet canonized) 

" IS a saint that has my name? " 

Asked a child of me: 
" Any one that I may claim 
For my Saint to be? " 

" And the name, what is it, dear? " 
Then I questioned her: 

11 Hildegarde or Guinevere, 
Maybe Edelburh? " 

" None of these, 0, none of these," 
Came the quick reply: 

" Holly is it, if you please 
That they call me by." 

" Holly? holly is a tree," 

Grave I spoke and slow: 

" Yet a saint's name may it be, 

If you wish to know." 
17 



18 Saint Holly 

" Who the Saint and lived she where? " 
Sought the glancing eyes: 

' Tell me how to call her care 
From the far-off skies." 

" Holly," said I, listen, dear, 
Is a tree keeps green, 
Bright with beauty all the year, 
Storm and calm between. 

" Bright with beauty may a child, 
Grace of God within, 
Keep its heart, however wild 
Rage the storms of sin. 

" Keep forever heart and mind 
Strong in heavenly grace, 
And shall one named Holly find 
With the Saints a place. " 



SAILOR LAD 

OAILORS go from Gloucester town 

Off across the briny deep; 
I sail out from Pillow-down 
On the gentle Sea of Sleep. 

Gloucester sailors seek the cod 
In the faroff northern seas; 
I can catch with my dream-rod 
Any kind of fish I please. 

Storm or calm is all the same, 

On the ocean, in the bay; 

Every harbor knows my name, 

I know every fish's way. 
19 



20 Sailor Lad 

Once I struck an awful gale 
Off the Banks of Midnight Dune, 
And I saw a monster whale 
Waiting for my long harpoon. 

How he piled the sea with spray, 
As I shot him through the back; 
Then he turned and sped away, — 
Close was I upon his track. 

Off we went to Behring Sea, 
Back again to Singapore, 
And I slipped and cut my knee 
On an Indian coral shore. 

When we came to Cripple Crow, 
I was tired and hungry, too; 
And the whale, — I heard him blow, 
" I will breakfast now on you." 



Sailor Lad 21 

So one final dash I tried 

For the shores of Rocky Rhyme: 

Dad stood calling at my side, 

" Sailor, wake, it's breakfast time." 

Sailors go from Gloucester town 
Off in danger o'er the deep; 
I sail out from Pillow-down 
On the wondrous Sea of Sleep. 



BOBBY BRIM 

T ITTLE Bobby Brim, 

(Now don't you bother him) 
Is busy, just as busy as can be, 

A frock he has to don, 

And with his jumpers on, 
He goes to urgent labors, don't you see. 

It's not to build a shed, 

Or paint the new fence red, 
It's not to mow the lawn or stack the hay; 

Nor wildest things to shoot, 

Nor pick the orchard fruit, 
That Bobby wears his working-clothes to-day. 

But if you'd like to view 
What little hands will do, 
Just peep a moment through the cellar door; 

22 



Bobby Brim 23 

You see a row of pans, 
Of glasses, jars, and cans, — 
Bob's ma is setting by the winter store. 

And Bob is there to see 

Just where the things will be, 
The hidden things of every shelf and tray: 

To know just where he'll find 

The jars and cans (you mind?) 
When mother wants them on some cooking- 
day. 

Of course, now, Bobby Brim, 

(You don't think wrong of him) 
Will often by the cellar shelves be found: 

He must taste each jar of jell, 

And the twenty jams to tell 
If Johnny Frost, the thief, has been around. 



GREAT TRAVELLERS 

YV7HEN teacher tells us stories 

Of lands this way and that, 
And all the wonders in between 

From here to Ararat; 
Two little lads beside me, 

At first seem very slow, 
And will not marvel at the tales, 

For better things they know. 

" Huh! talk about that Naples," 
Then one of them will say, 

" But I see wonderfuller sights 
In clouds of Evening Bay; 

Along by seas of purple, 

Where hills and islands stand, 

The galleon ships go sailing on 

To Make-Believe-a-Land.' , 
24 



Great Travellers 25 

" And talk of plains of battle," 

The other one replies, 
" Why, bigger wars I know about, 

And no one ever dies; 
For in our fortress-orchard 

I start a mutiny, 
And two or four great pirates fall, 

Just apples from a tree." 

So half a hundred stories 

They tell that come to pass, 
When they like knights and musketeers 

Win kingdoms in the grass ; 
Or sail by wondrous islands 

That come and go like dreams, 
Where everything is safe and big 

And nothing is that seems. 



I 



TO JAMES 

CANNOT find in all the names 

One I would like to use for James; 
I can't say Jimmy, no, nor Jim, 
For they don't look a bit like him. 



If he were Scotch (how strange it seems) 
I then could call him cannie Jeems ; 
Mori petit Jacques is what he'd be, 
If he were French, and said, Oui> Out. 

If he were but some Irish lad, 
Shemus aroon would make him glad; 
Or were his home in Germany 
Mein Kleiner Jacob would he be. 

Were he some Spanish mother's dear, 

Santiagito would he hear; 

And if from Italy he came, 
Then Jacobino were his name. 

26 



To James 27 

But I can't find in all these names 
One that I'd like to use for James; 

Because— because, dear James, you see, 
Dear James is good enough for me. 



THE CHILD'S PLAY OF MEN 

IT must be fun like dad to play 

In his big store down town, 
To have a lot of games all day, 

And never stop to frown: 
To measure yards of everything, 

And weigh big things and small, 
To hear the voice of traffic sing, 

And prices rise and fall. 

For that is all dad has to do, 

As far as I can see, 
If St. Augustine's word is true 

That mother told to me. 
" For children's play," Augustine said, 

" When they are grown to men, 

Is children's play, though earning bread, 

They call it business then." 

28 



A FELLOW I KNOW 

I KNOW a fellow at our school 

And all he's good for is to fool; 
He cares no more for class and books 
Than fishes do for empty hooks; 
His only business is to play 
And kill the time in any way. 

I know a man lives on our street, 
The saddest man of all I meet; 
He goes his lonely-looking way, 
And has no heart for work or play; 
For when he was a boy at school, 
His only business was to fool 



29 



THE AUTUMN PAINTER 

I HAVE seen the country painter 

At the corner of the lane, 
And his name in great red letters 

Printed on the window-pane. 
I have watched him mixing colors, 

Bending over with a stick, 
Turning, lifting, till he finished, 

And I'm sure I know the trick. 

So I'm going to do some painting, 

And no little job have I; 
It's no fence along the roadside, 

Nor a chimney near the sky; 
But I'm going to paint the orchard, 

And the trees upon the hill, 
All the hedges by the garden, 

And the willow near the mill. 

30 



The Autumn Painter 31 

For the summer now is over, 

And the leaves must change the green 
To a thousand tints and colors, 

When October takes the scene; 
Brown must be the oaks and beeches, 

Crimson must the hedges be, 
Twenty shades upon the maples, 

For my Autumn Queen to see. 

So I'll gather up my colors, — 

Sunset gold and red of dawn, 
And the mountain mists of purple, 

And the white fog on the lawn; 
Then the winds will do the mixing, 

And my brush will be the breeze; 
Cold and clear will be the canvas, 

When the rains have washed the trees. 

Look, while still the lawn and woodland 
Hold the green of summer days! 

Look, and fill your eyes with wonder 
When you see October's ways. 



32 The Autumn Painter 

Soon my canvas will be ready, 

Soon my brush will ply its trade; 

Then you'll see my gold and purple 
Over all the forests laid. 



AT LONDON BRIDGE 

Q, HERE is London City 

And this is London Town, 
And here do I stand asking, 
" Where is the Bridge is falling down? " 

But no good man will answer 
But laugh and pass by me, 
For not a bridge is falling, 
As far and far as I can see. 

0, not a bridge is falling, 
And yet I thought it so; 
I heard it said in London 
A bridge was falling long ago. 

I heard my mother sing it, 

Her mother sang it, too; 

And here IVe crossed the ocean, 

And find, alas! it is not true. 
33 



34 At London Bridge 

Then must I wait a twelvemonth, 
A twelvemonth and a day, 
To prove the song will happen 
And London Bridge will fall away? 

0, I will wait no twelvemonth, 
But I will wait a day, 
And all good men that pass me 
Will look and wonder why I stay. 

And surely when I'm sleeping 

To-night in London Town, 

I'll hear far voices singing, 

" See, London Bridge is falling down. 



A LITTLE FARMER 

COME folks like to be a soldier, 
Others like the trackless sea, 
But a good and healthy farmer 
Is the only thing for me. 

I will tell you where my farm is 
If you come with me awhile. 
Close your eyes and listen closely, — 
Will you promise not to smile? 

It is in a pleasant valley 
Where a river gently flows, 
And the hills that rise beside it 
Stop the north wind when it blows. 

Forests like some marching army 

Up and down the valley go, 

Guarding with their arms so sturdy, 

Verdant fields for things to grow. 
35 



36 A Little Farmer 

Berry vines and grapes in clusters, 
Cover all the fences round; 
Pumpkins fit for Jack-o-'Lanterns 
Lie like gold upon the ground. 

Up the hills are prancing ponies, 
In the groves you'll see a deer; 
Look! like clouds out on the pasture, 
All the sheep that I have here. 

Just like clouds, when night is falling. 
Look now, open wide your eyes: 
See them! See them! Clouds like sheep there, 
Going home across the skies. 



TO DOROTHY 

\V THAT is in a name? you ask, 

This I know is true, — 
Doron, gift, and Theos, God, 
Spell the name of you. 

Gift-of-God, may the name 
Bless a long life through; 

And may heaven welcome then 
Gift-to-God of you. 



37 



BARON VON DOUGALL 

/"^vLD Baron von Dougall who lived in a 

glen, 
laugh ye or cry, is the pity of men: 

In folly one day, 

His heart went astray 

And so lost its way, 
Above on a mountain or down in a fen. 

The Baron was proud and he thought himself 

wise, 
He learned bits of everything under the 
skies: 
He wrote a big book, 
And wore a deep look, 
His back had a crook 
That helped him to carry his learned dis- 
guise. 

38 



Baron Von Dougall 39 

But wisdom is humble and wisdom is kind, 
And dwells like a child in the halls of the 
mind; 

But never with pride, 

When scoffers deride 

Will wisdom abide, 
Or light up the roadways if learning is 

blind. 

And Baron von Dougall, alas! would not 

see 
That life is no riddle but plain as can be;— 

Life's pathways are clear, 

To eye and to ear, 

All times of the year, 
If humbly with God you walk mountain or 
lea. 

But on and still onward von Dougall would 
go. 



40 Baron Von Dougall 

Alone without God and alone to his woe; 

With pride for his light, 

And thoughts that affright, 

The day turned to night, 
And lost went the Baron, let everyone know. 



MY HUNTING GROUNDS 

HTHOUGH I always stay at home 

I can hunt like any man 
And my jungles I can roam, 
Like a very African. 

Africa is black, they say, 

But I know a blacker land, 

Where there is no sun or day, 
Only stars like grains of sand. 

When the nighttime comes around, 
I jump in my jungle bed, 

And I see the forest ground 

In the dark above my head. 

Soon the things begin to come, 

Some can crawl and some can fly, 

Some you know the way they hum, 
Others scare you when they cry. 

41 



42 My Hunting Grounds 

Lions come with open jaws, 
Big as caves beside the sea; 

And the tigers show their claws, 

Pointing them right straight at me. 

When they all get very near, 
I jump up in awful fright, 

But they quickly disappear 

In the dreamlands of the night. 

Africa is black, they say, 

But I know a blacker land, 

Where there is no sun or day, 
Only stars like silver sand. 



IN THE PHOTOGRAPHER'S STUDIO 

TJERE is a funny kind of sea, 

The waters do not flow, 
And never is a noise of waves, 

And ships stay always so. 
For here are only painted things, 

Like clouds that cannot fall, 
Or wrinkled canvas just for rocks, 

And no soft sand at all. 

It's very easy you can tell 
The place is Make-believe, 

That it is just a picture-sea 
All made up to deceive: 

For if the ocean really was 
So near us where I stand 

My clothes would look quite otherwise 

From playing in the sand. 
43 



MAY-DAY 

TV THAT rapture thrills along the hills 

In welcome of the Spring! 
In bright array they greet his way 

With flowery offering: 
Abloom are trees with melodies 

Where birds all joyous sing. 

Yet fairer far the lovelands are 

Within our souls to-day! 
Like wondrous flowers in springtime hours, 

Our hearts in fragrance sway, 
And bloom all sweet before the feet 

Of Mary, Queen of May. 

here we bring for offering 

The lily's heart of white, 

The love that blows from lilac rows 

In purple splendor bright; 
44 



May-Day 45 

And every hue that blossoms drew 
From mines of golden light. 

Dear Mother, take the gifts we make 
From springtime's flowering; 

And take, above the May-time, love, 
Our hearts all gladly bring, 

Eternal be our praise of thee, 
Mother of Christ, the King! 



THE BONNIE PRINCE 0' SPRING 

THHE little green soldiers are here at last, 
With their waving blades and spears; 
And across the hills they are marching 
fast 
With the drill of a thousand years: 
And I wave afar, and I shout, Hurrah! 
Till I hear their echoing cheers. 

A bonnie prince is at their head, 

And his love all the legions know: 

For he gives them rest where the twigs 
are red 
At the hedges cool in a row: 

And afoot are they soon to a birdlike tune 

On the northward march to go. 
46 



The Bonnie Prince o Spring 47 

Oh, I am leal to the marching men, 
To my bonnie Prince I am true; 

For he tells me the way to his tented glen, 
And the secret password too: 

And he sets in my hair a blossom to wear, 
Like his own good horsemen do. 

Then I will follow on all the day 

Where the bonnie Prince has led, 

Till we drive the Winter foemen away 
And throne my Prince instead: 

And sing willaloo! with the birds, willaloo! 
For the Winter King is dead. 



FRIENDS AGAIN 

U'OR some rebuke, poor, little lad, 

His heart waged war on me; 
The friendliness that once he had 
Now fed on enmity. 

He came across my wonted path 
With dark, averted face; 
Upon his brow hung puny wrath, 
Where once was merry grace. 

And should I leave him to his pride 

And petty childishness: 

Or cast all harsher thoughts aside 

And do sweet deeds that bless? 
48 



Friends Again 49 

The morrow came; we two were near; 
I greeted him " Good-day " — 
His voice came back all sweet and clear, 
His heart again was gay. 

And so, good Lord, I pray to Thee, 
If e'er I give Thee pain, 
0, let Thy Heart's humility 
Come bring me back again. 



MY GALLERY 

A MAN from Paris told us, 

(And pictures did he show) 
Of artist works of wonder 
In galleries in a row, 
Where travellers may go. 

He showed us scenes of England, 
And paintings out of Spain, 

And countless other marvels, 
Like lands that needed rain, 
And kings that stood in pain. 

But never were his pictures 
So wonderful to me, 

For in my little attic 

Are greater things to see, — 
To look at them is free. 

50 



My Gallery 5 1 

They lie upon the ceiling, 
And cover up the wall, 

And if you come I'll show you 
The big ones and the small, 
When evening shadows fall. 

There! see the fearful tigers, 
(You think a smoky stain) 

I make them turn to anything, 
A mountain or a plain, 
Or tigers back again. 

Now watch that dusty ceiling 

And faces will look out, 
As plain as some big army: 

And listen, " Rightabout !"— 

I think I heard a shout. 

There's Africa and Iceland, 

And here is Baffin Bay, 
And up there in the corner, 

(Where rain fell in one day), 

Why, that's a load of hay. 



52 My Gallery 

Now look again! it's China, 
And fairies on a hill, 

And tigers run from kittens, 
Out by the window sill, 
Where night is very still. 

The travelling man had pictures, 
But pictures, that was all; 

But mine can change to anything 
On ceiling and on wall, 
When evening shadows fall. 



AN AUTUMN ROSE-TREE 

IT seemed too late for roses 

When I walked abroad to-day, 
October stood in silence, 

By the hedges all the way: 
Yet did I hear a singing, 

And I saw a red rose-tree: — 
In fields so gray with autumn 

How could song or roses be! 

Oh, it was never maple 

Nor the dogwood's coat afire, 
No sage with scarlet banners, 

Nor the poppy's vested choir: 
The breeze that may be music 

When the summer lawns are fair 
Will have no heart for singing 

In the autumn's mournful air. 
53 



54 An Autumn Rose-Tree 

As I went up the roadway, 

Under cold and lonely skies, 
A song I heard, a rose-tree 

Waved to me in glad surprise: — 
A red cloak and a ribbon, 

(Round the braided hair of jet) 
And redder cheeks than roses 

Of a little Margaret. 

Now God is good in autumn, 

He can name the birds that sing, 
He loves the hearts of children 

More than flowery fields of spring: 
And when the years of winter 

Gray with Margaret will be, 
God will find her love still blossom 

Like a red rose-tree. 



BATCHEE LE BLANC 

/^VLD Batchee le Blanc is a queer French 
man, 
The queerest I ever did see, 
He talks French easy and fast as he can, 
As he shakes his head, 
" Ba oui! " 
And his horse and dog know French, of 
course, 

" Ba oui, mon cher, ba oui! " 

His dog knows nothing of English at all, 
Or the threats of Yankee law, 

And never stops barking till Batchee call 
With a big French stick, 
" Tais toi! " 

And the dog will hide as still as a mouse, 

' Tais toi, gros chien, tais toi." 
55 



56 Batchee le Blanc 

But his horse goes faster when told to, 
"Whoa!" 
Away with the two-wheeled trap, 
And when he wants him to canter slow 
He laughs and says 
" Git-ap! " 
With a light French laugh, he stops the horse 
" Git-ap, cheval, git-ap! " 

I asked old Batchee le Blanc to-day, 

Could he teach his French to me, 
And then will the horse and the dog obey, 
If I speak to them, 
" Ba oui! " 
If I use a word or a stick in French, 
" Ba oui, Batchee, ba oui! " 



AFTER VACATION 

DY hill and vale September rules, 

The summer suns no longer burn; 
And in the woods and in the schools, 
The leaves, alas! begin to turn. 



57 



A LITTLE RAILROAD MAN 

/. Now 

r^ROM Boston Town to Frisco Bay 
The crossing railroads go, 

And some run down a southern way, 
And some where north winds blow: 

From east and west by night and day 
Are countless roads, I know. 

See, like a spider's web they stand 

Across the colored chart, 
They track the level prairie land 

And crowd the busy mart: 
And reach round like a mighty hand 

That holds a countr 's heart. 

58 



A Little Railroad Man 59 

Oh, there is Good Hope by a sea, 

And here is Santa Fe, 
And over there is Merrilee, 

And this is Spendaday: 
And now we take a homeward way, 

The best way that can be. 

So if you want a day of fun, 

I'll be the guide for you, 
Across the map our course will run 

As quick as lightnings do: 
And we'll come home before the sun 

Waves us a glad adieu. 

//. Later 

Like crossing lines in queer designs 

Are other roads to know: 
The ways of life through peace or strife, 

Each human heart must go: 
Now on it speeds by merry meads, 

Now summits that are slow. 



60 A Little Railroad Man 

We ride away and gladly pay 

With work and prayer the toll: 

O'er hill and dale God marks a trail 
For journey of the soul, 

And lights the skies for earnest eyes 
That seek the one great Goal. 

By mount or moor the way is sure, 
And signal lights are clear, 

Where faith and hope round every slope 
Await the engineer: 

And he is blest within whose breast 
Is God who knows not fear. 

Deep in your heart by mead or mart 

God's graces go with you, 
Through joy and pain, like hill and plain, 

To keep your journey true, 
'Till with His light you pass the Night 

And wave the world adieu. 



IN A SEA-SHELL 

/~\NCE a child beside her mother 

Held a sea-shell to her ear, 
Fancying the distant ocean 
Far to windward she could hear. 

" 0, my mother, why the moaning, 
Sad and low it seems to be? " 
'Tis the water's Miserere 
For the dead beneath the sea. 

" Now the sounds are sweet and hopeful, 

Crooning low, but calling far: " 
Some lone mother of a sailor 
Calls the care of Oceans Star. 

" 0, then tell me why the shrieking, 

And a wild and lonely cry: " 
For the sailor rides the rigging 
And the wild winds whistle by. 

61 



62 In a Sea-Shell 

" Strong with joy is now the music, 
Drawing near it seems to be: " 
Near the harbor sings the sailor 
Hymns of Mary, Star of Sea. 

" Songs I hear all full of gladness, 
Close beside a sunny shore: " 
When the sailor greets his mother 
Safe beside the cottage door. 



A MOTHER'S CARE 

fJE was a wholesome-hearted boy, 

With youthful freedom was he free, 
And all his world was sunny joy 
For all his heart's integrity. 

Along the ways of life one day 

We met by chance's happy art; 

So likely seemed he every way, 

I made of him a brother heart. 

But even brothers may forget; 

His glee one day, not understood, 
Fchided hard; his eyes were wet 

From what I said in heartless mood. 

I left him so; his youth was weak 

To answer back my heartlessness; 

But, lo! there was a voice to speak 

And champion his sad distress. 
63 



64 A Mother's Care 

For all that night I seemed to hear 

His chiding mother — who was dead- 
Speak for her boy and raise the tear 
Within my eyes for all I said. 

The years go on and brotherly: 

No harshness e'er again is heard, 

Nor ever shall, since unto me 

His mother spake a mother's word. 



THE EASTER OF THE FLOWERS 

/^VRPHANS of Summer, little seeds, 

Whipped by the winds of Autumn, 
Fell where their mother Summer died, 

Into a grave of clotted weeds; 
But in their hearts a faith was strong, 

Hoping a resurrection, 
Voicing their faith beneath the mold, 
Calmly they kept this hopeful song: 
"We know our Master ever lives, 
The laws He made we strongly trust, 
And when His word to Spring He gives, 
His law shall raise us from the dust." 

Hearing the song, with wounded pride 

Angrily came the Winter. 
Sealing the land with barrier snows, 

Madly the seed-song it decried; 

65 



66 The Easter of the Flowers 

Soon came a message from the Spring, 

Serving the seeds' great Master, 
Warm grew the winds across the earth, 
Up sprang the hearts of hope to sing: 
" 0, we have risen as we said, 
The trusted summons we have heard, 
Our Master's word is never dead, 
The law within us is His word." 



MOTHER AND I IN THE MAY 

QUEENS may ride in a gilded coach, 
With guards at every door; 
Kings go out with their cavalry, 
Trumpeters playing before; 
And the city is gay 
In a royal way, 
Hail to the king! says the cannon's 
roar. 

I am a king in my own good realm, 

And I have a royal sway; 

Over the land is my mother Queen, 

All in a queenly way; 

And a throne have we 

And chivalry, 

Down in our valleys of May. 
67 



68 Mother and I in the May 

Never a guardsman walks with us, 
When we go through the land, 
Yet may a thousand liegemen come 
To take us by the hand; 
And everywhere 
We hear the air 
Echo a singing band. 

Kind are the eyes that look at us, 
Brave are the words they say; 
Gentle the service the flowermen give, 
Uniformed in our way; 

Long be our reign, 
Long live the twain, 
Mother and I in the May! 



TO CATHERINE 

(Aged Five) 

P\OWN the roads of June with me 

Went a little song, 
Running on by brook and tree, 
Luring me along. 

" Kataleen! Kataleen! " 

Was the song I heard. 
Who was she that seemed the queen 

Of a lovelorn bird? 

Vainly watched I every throat 

Up and down the glen; 

Never thrush could sing the note, 

Oriole or wren. 
69 



70 To Catherine 

Home I came across the green, 
By the wooded lane; 

"Kataleen! Kataleen! " 
Still the sweet refrain. 

Catherine was at the door, 
Rose-like waved her hand, 

Sweeter music than before 
Ran around the land. 

Now I know who is the queen, 
Whose the minstrel art: 

Catherine is Kataleen, 

Sings a mother's heart. 



THE SONG OF WORKADAY MILL 

T^HE brook runs down by Workaday Hill, 

And turns the wheel of the valley mill — 
The wheel and the brook that work all 

day 
With a merry song and joyful way: 
" Welapse-is-leery, welapse-is-loo! 
We never get weary; hist, do you? " 

And mother she smiled, one day as we 

stayed 
To hear the song the waterwheel made; 
The mill is the heart of the valley, said 

she, 
And the good folk work to this melody: 
" Welapse-is-leery, welapse-is-loo! 
We never get weary; say, do you? " 

71 



72 The Song of Workaday Mill 

Full wagons come down from many a plain 
And bring the harvest of golden grain; 
And out to the world goes flour for bread 
From the good folk's work and the song that 
said: 
" Welapse-is-leery, welapse-is-loo! 
We never get weary, and why should 
you? " 

And mother she said, as we came away, 
That song is for work, as song is for play; 
And the work God gives to us all, said she, 
If done in His will, is a melody: 

" Perhaps it's dreary, perhaps it's small, 
But we never weary; God counts it all." 



THE LAST GIFT 

/^VLD Santa Claus by night and day 

Drove round the world his reindeer 
sleigh, 
By chimneyed roofs, with gifts and mirth 
He sought the young ones of the earth. 

And when the bells in midnight chime 
Rang from the towers of Father Time, 
Then Santa drove up with a cheer 
And gave old Time a bright New Year. 



73 



TO HELEN AND GERARD 

/"Y THERE was the shore like a cloth of 
gold, 

And blue was the sky that day, 
And bright as a beam from the laughing sea 

Came wonderment and they. 

0, where was the shore and the cloudless sky, 

And the sea so passing fair? 
At a little chapel on Lady-day, 

And the flower of friendship there. 

When the tapers passed and the hymn was 

still 

And the organ's soul of praise, 

To the doorway home two children came 

And blessed all future days. 
74 



To Helen and Gerard 75 

0, the soft spring-buds take the old oak- 
tree, 

And the tiny hands took mine, 
In the tendril fingers my heart was fast 

Like a tower within the vine. 

Now that was the day of the wondrous 
sky, 

By the shores of youth we strayed, 
For the sand was gold and the sea was song 

To the hearts of the boy and maid. 

0, great were the towns we built in the 
sand, 

And oft did we sail the sea, 
And we found a lost Utopian land 

Though never a league went we. 

But, alas! for the tides must rise and fall, 

And, alas! for the years also; 
Where the tides of time go east and west 

On the separate seas we go. 



76 To Helen and Gerard 

Yet the towns stand true by the singing shore, 

All loyal in sun or rain, 
And the towers we built in the Long-Ago 

Look fondly over the main. 

On the ship aloft where I set it safe 
Is the banner of God's good will: 

At rest in the bay or running a gale, 
My prayer goes with it still. 



A LITTLE CHRISTMAS SONG 

W7IDE ways speed to taverns bright, 

And to halls of fame, 
Those are red with sense delight, 

These with honor's flame; 
Soon they grow all cold and gray, 

For the heart will tire; 
No good man but will away 

From a phantom fire. 

Bleak though be a hillside lane, 
Yea, and bleak the night, 

Joy all surely men may gain 
In the Shepherd's light; 

Halls of fame may darkly frown, 
Taverns close to them, 

Yet they keep in field or town 

Joy from Bethlehem. 

77 



THE LIGHTS OF WORCESTER TOWN 

IT'IVE great hills with groves and towers 

Stand like a wall round Worcester Town, 
Fair are they all days and hours, 

Most of all when the night comes down : 
Camped in beauty if winter snows them, 

Royal they wear rich autumn's gown, 
Gleaming if dawn or noontime shows them, 

Fairest of all when the night comes down. 

Up the hillsides, down the lowlands, 

Jewelled with lights all Worcester glows, 

Magical squares like fairy showlands, 
Arbors of lily, or banks of rose: 

Some like ghosts with footsteps stealthy 
Pale on the hills where Spencer goes, 

Others in windows warm and healthy, 

They of the lily, these of the rose. 

78 



The Lights of Worcester Town 79 

Waters in Blackstone's courseway flowing 

Hold in their eyes of pond and stream 
Tier on tier, the mill lamps showing 

Arches of light like a land of dream. 
Motion of looms is pictured by them, 

Passing of folk in a golden gleam, 
Spindle and shuttle and men that ply them, 

Weaving the tapestries fair as a dream. 

Out from the deep dark hills come flashing 

Trailing lights when the trains go by, 
Eastward, westward, they are dashing 

Quick as meteors cross the sky. 
Beacons aloft on tower and steeple 

Signal their words to the watching eye, 
Ribbons of light see town and people 

Flash like a comet across the sky. 



80 The Lights of Worcester Town 

Five great hills all marked with highways, 

Stand like a wall round Worcester Town, 
Lights aglowing in halls and byways, 

Magical look when the night comes down. 
Silvery stars of a city gleaming, 

Jewels bedecking its golden gown, 
Lily or rose in gardens seeming 

Parts of a fairyland night brings down. 



ENVOY 



81 



MY WALKS 

YV THEN shall my heart be wiser 
And foolishness leave me, 
When shall I make adviser 
A many a man I see? 
For they go gather money 

On gloomy roads of care, 
And feed on gall for honey 
The golden thistles bear. 

But I sing up the highways 

And dream down lonely lanes, 

Though never hills or byways 
Give hope of golden gains; 

Yet bring I home at night-time 
My heart full of a joy 

That makes the dark a bright time 

And keeps a man a boy. 
83 



84 My Walks 

For childwise do I measure 

The realms of sky and ground, 
And find the hills with treasure 

Of joyous thoughts abound, — 
The stainless gold of graces 

That gleam from cloud or sod, 
Through all the pilgrim places 

I walk abroad with God. 



PRINTED BY BENZIGER BROTHERS, NEW YORK 



